


From Russia with Eros

by SubtextEquals



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-18
Updated: 2017-02-18
Packaged: 2018-09-25 10:21:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9815486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SubtextEquals/pseuds/SubtextEquals
Summary: Months after Katsuki Yuuri won Viktor's heart at the Grand Prix Banquet, Viktor has yet to hear from him. Still, he's not about to let a little heartbreak from keeping him from winning the next Grand Prix. "Eros" is sure to both win him gold and Yuuri's attention.But things never go to plan. With Yakov on Viktor's case about his leg and Yuuri's only substantial appearances being on Phichit Chulanont's instagram, this will be no exception to that rule.





	

_“What do you have in mind for next season?”_

Viktor answered the reporter’s question long ago but he had yet to answer it to himself. Every time he brushed the question aside it returned. Now it swirled in his mind more than the coffee did in his mug.

A bark interrupted his thoughts for a moment, long enough for Makkachin to jump onto the couch and wriggle close. Makkachin’s paws stretched across his chest and the poodle stared into Viktor’s eyes.

“Ah, Makkachin. What would you do next season?” Viktor scratched behind the dog’s ears. “Stay home and eat pirozhki?” He laughed. “You still like long walks, don’t you? You should be less sore, you can’t even do a single jump.” He rubbed the top of Makkachin’s head. It failed to make his fur any fluffier than it already was.

Makkachin rested his chin on Viktor’s chest in response.

Viktor kept petting him. With his free hand he took out his phone and scrolled through his instagram. Nothing of note. He took a picture of Makkachin. Comments and likes flowed from his fans. But not a one from a certain Japanese figure skater.

 

Viktor brought his momentum to a halt. At the same time the music flourished and he turned to face away, clasping his hands to arms to his chest. The dance-- his skating program-- done. Hee gasped. With the cold air, the sweat from his workout felt smothering, not to mention gross. The body had its way of telling him to stop and slow down. But since when did he listen?

“Yuri! You are not done with your practice! YURI!” Yakov yelled.

Viktor glanced back with a shake of his head to get his bangs back in place as Yuri Plisetsky skated up to him.

“Since you’ve decided on your program, get started on mine already.” he snapped.

“On yours?” Viktor laughed. “You’re old enough to make your own, aren’t you?” He rested his hand on his hip and tilted his head, smiling. “Besides, I haven’t settled on a program.”

“You’ve been skating it all day. And you promised me a program!”

“Huh?” Viktor dropped the smile and stared at Yuri.

Promise?

“You forgot?”

Yakov was yelling. He was making it difficult to think. 

“Of course not. You say I promised…”

Yuri skated closer to him and jutted his chin up. Yuri’s angels would love a picture of this, no doubt they’d find his anger adorable. Imagine the tweets!

“You promised to choreograph for my senior division debut if I won Junior World without quads!”

“Ah!” Viktor laughed. “So I did. So I did! Sorry, sorry. You know how I forget.” Viktor tapped his chin. Really, Yuri couldn’t bring this up sooner? The thought of choreographing something brand new and finding the music for it no longer excited him as it once did.

He held up a finger. “I know. Since I’ve decided on my program, I’ll give you the other one.”

Yuri glared at him. “You just said you hadn’t decided.”

“I’ve decided right now!” He pointed at Yuri. “You, Yuri Plisetsky, will be agape!”

“HUH?”

 

“Vitya!”

Viktor finished tying his shoelaces before looking up at his coach. “Yakov, shouldn’t you be working with Georgi? If you take away his phone, he’ll land his jumps.”

“Enough with your jokes.” Yakov pointed at him. “You’re leaving early.”

“Hm,” Viktor smiled. “Makkachin isn’t feeling well.”

“Makkachin or you? You’re favoring your right leg again.”

Viktor stood. “Ah, Yakov! You’re acting like I’m on my deathbed again. Oh…” He pressed the back of his hand to his forehead and tilted his head back. “I feel faint. Oh no, Yakov! You must help.” He fell back onto his chair.

“Your dramatics won’t work on me!”

Viktor opened his eyes and folded his arms over his chest. “I wish they would. If I promise to stretch will you stop nagging?”

Yakov shook his head. “You sound like Yuri.”

“All this time I thought Yuri sounds like me.” Viktor grabbed his ice skates and a water bottle. “You need to be more of a coach than a mother, Yakov.”

Now, if Viktor were a coach....

Yakov mercifully interrupted that train of thought. “WHAT? I am not your mother! I have never acted like it. A good coach focuses on keeping his students healthy--”

Viktor waved off whatever else he was saying. Makkachin was overdue for some treats. And he himself was overdue for a break.

 

“Viktor!” Mila called to him. “You’re missing your Grand Prix assignments. Yuri is already having a fit.”

“I am not, you hag!” Came Yuri’s voice.

Focus now lost, Viktor still paused to complete the next part of his step sequence before breaking from the program. He looked at Yuri. “I haven’t seen anyone act that bad since Makkachin was a puppy.”

“Enough!” Yakov barked.

Fortunately, Makkachin had never sounded that bad.

“Viktor, Yuri, Georgi-- you will all be in Rostelecom. Don’t disappoint me, and don’t make me run around all day after you.” Yakov gave a pointed look at Yuri and Viktor in turn.

“I thought you gave up chasing me,” Viktor said.

“What about that moron, Yuuri Katsuki?” Yuri asked.

Viktor pretended not to perk up. Judging by the way Mila smirked at him, he had not succeeded.

“Also at Rostelecom. Don’t make another scene.”

“Another?” Mila asked.

“None of your business!” Yuri snapped. His eyes darted to Viktor. They came to an agreement in one silent glance. What happened at the Grand Prix banquet stayed at the Grand Prix banquet.

 

 

Viktor leaned against the airport wall, and Yuri did the same only with a more pronounced slouch. Both of them scrolled through their phones. Viktor looked at dog pictures. He had no idea what Yuri was looking at. But Georgi, who had slumped onto the floor, was clearly looking at his ex’s instagram. He nearly ripped his lip in two with all that gnawing he inflicted upon it.

After a brief pause, Viktor typed in a username on instagram. He couldn’t say it was solely to get away from Georgi’s overwrought posts with #tbt. To his surprise, there was something new. Clearly Yuuri hadn’t been the one to take the picture on his account. It was the man posing next to him, smiling and holding up his two fingers in a pose, while his other fingers grasped a selfie stick. His face was pressed right up next to Yuuri’s.

Viktor looked at the username in a comment, which read: I’m taking you to my house next time, Yuuri!!!

Phichit+chu?

“Hey, Viktor!” Yuri snapped. “What’s that look?”

Viktor smiled. “What look?”

Yuri ignored the question. “Shouldn’t you be working on finding your eros?”

Georgi snorted. “Viktor finds his eros every time he checks instagram.”

Viktor’s smile went tight. “Georgi--” Damn, anything he was about to say could just as easily apply to himself now.

Phichit+chu…

And they were in Bangkok?

“You’ll have to go off instagram if you want to find yours,” he continued with only a breath between the start.

Yuri huffed. “You’ll have to do the same if you want to surprise the crowd again.” He finished with a smirk.

Viktor glanced down at his phone.

Phichit Chulanont?

He slipped his phone back into his pocket and tilted his head back in a laugh. “I don’t need to surprise all of my fans. I only need to surprise one.”

 

Most of Viktor’s competitors fell into two camps: those who hovered near him, flustered and perhaps hoping for some luck or skill to rub off on them, and those who stayed away in awe or terror. Only a few, like Christophe, spoke to him on his level. Unfortunately, Chris wasn’t at Rostelecom. Even more unfortunately, Yuuri seemed to have entrenched himself firmly in the latter group of competitors.

He didn’t even notice Viktor looking at him. Maybe it was because he wasn’t wearing hisglasses, but he should still have the decency to glance up when Viktor stretched in front of him. A solid half of his fans would swoon if they saw him jut his ass out. And he wasn’t just talking about the women.

But off Yuuri went-- looking stunning in his costume. Skintight with ruffles and--

Behind Viktor, Yuri snorted. “With that gut, he’ll topple over.”

Viktor waited before slinking to the stands to watch.

Regardless of his ever present, perpetually vivid memories of the banquet, Viktor maintained the ability to not picture Yuuri ice skating without clothes and covered in champagne; that was for dreams. During the actual competition he watched with a keen eye and a face that refused to betray any internal flinches when Yuuri stumbled. Despite the fumbles, he saw even more clearly what he had last year. Whatever Phichit Chulanont was to Yuuri, his skating bore little resemblance to his and far more to Viktor’s. But there was something all Yuuri’s own. That step sequence...

A smile worked its way across Viktor’s face. No wonder the young “Russian punk” was jealous. Yuuri’s skill outpaced Yuri’s in this. Even Viktor felt a surge of envy. He couldn’t ignore that Yuuri messed up the landings of his quads, but the potential was there, waiting to be brought out. If only...

Smile falling from his face, Viktor cupped his chin in his hand. What would it have been like to coach someone with that ability? And what, he wondered even more, was holding Yuuri back from achieving his potential?

 

Viktor won over his audience virtually the moment he stepped on the ice. Skating into position for his program, he waved, flashing them a winning smile. It took nothing to hold their attention, but it might take everything to gain someone else’s.

Eros. It wasn’t hard to capture that emotion knowing Yuuri was watching him. Would he recognize this? Their story, how he’d been discarded-- only Viktor was not giving up. He’d win Yuuri back. Executing every jump with perfection, ignoring the growing twinges in his ankle with each landing, he embodied lust. The pain was nothing more than a fleeting distraction. He wouldn’t let that stop him once the music came to a climax and he broke his previous choreography to turn to the stand where his competitors were, where Yuuri was, and point to-- not Yuuri. There wasn’t a sign of him.

His attention did not go unnoticed. Christophe blew him a kiss.

 

Viktor could not get out of his interview fast enough. He went to the stands. Perhaps if he made a discreet inquiry _someone_ would know where--

“He went in the bathroom to cry like last year,” Yuri said without prompting. “He should have listened to me.”

...Went to the bathroom to cry?

_Like last year?_

Instead of repeating Yuri’s words like a fool, Viktor narrowed his eyes and asked. “Why should he listen to you? What did you tell him?”

“That he should retire to make way for someone with talent.”

If his previous remarks went heard by any of the other skaters they didn’t react but that one had everyone’s head turning in his direction.

Only a handful of them had watched Viktor closely enough to catch the dark look flashed across his face before the smile masked it.

“Ah, you mean someone who did not put most of their jumps in the second half of their program? Someone with a lackluster step sequence?” Viktor held up his finger. “I’m disappointed in you, Yuri. I thought you would score higher with my program. If you want to push _someone_ into retirement, you must show you deserve their place.” His leg twinged but the smile plastered on Viktor’s face didn’t falter.

Yuri rolled his eyes. As ever, Viktor did not let that stop him from going over his ever growing critique for the rising star.

 

Viktor despaired of ever catching Yuuri’s attention. Yuuri did everything in his power to hide from both his competitors and the public at large. Not an easy feat for a now two time Grand Prix finalist. If Viktor could just get ahold of him. He should have known that he wouldn’t be able to find him in all of Barcelona. At least the Sagrada Familia was still breathtaking.

The click of a phone camera went off incessantly.. Not uncommon here, but it came from only one person. Disrupted from his own selfie taking, he turned and saw Phichit Chulanont.

Phichit saw Viktor first through the camera of his phone. A moment later he looked up, beaming. “Viktor Nikifirov! Isn’t it beautiful?”

Viktor smiled and approached his competitor. “Amazing. How about a photo together?”

“Ohh, Yuuri will be so jealous.” Phichit stuck his phone on the selfie stick as he spoke.

“Will he? Why isn’t he here?”

“He’s still sleeping. I think. He didn’t answer me.” Phichit allowed Viktor to lean close to him to allow the best picture possible. “I can’t believe you’re here,” Phichit continued once the photo was taken. After showing it to Viktor, who nodded in approval of the stunning selfie skills, he uploaded it to instagram. “I hear so much of you from Yuuri, I feel as if I know you.”

“Oh?”

“He’s such a fan. Hey! Maybe we can all have dinner together.”

“Oh, yes.” Viktor smiled. “If you know so much about me, it’s only fair that I get to know the two of you just as well.”

 

Viktor found it amazing that before tonight he’d been jealous of this cute, friendly, and ultimately harmless Thai skater. Phichit was more eager to talk about his friend than himself. He didn’t betray Yuuri’s secrets about his anxiety. But a few comments when it came to Yuuri not having many friends and how great he was in practice, it was easy for him to read between the lines.

“I’m glad he came back this year,” Phichit told him as they walked to the restaurant. Yuuri had finally responded to his invitation over text. “I thought he wouldn’t. But he promised me we’d skate on ice together in a competition. I think he forgot until I reminded him. There he is! Hi, Yuuri!”

Yuuri stared at the both of them, no doubt wondering how much his friend had spilled.

Viktor smiled at Yuuri’s stricken look. “Hello, Yuuri. I hoped to see you again.”

Yuuri’s face burned from red to scarlet. Was what happened last year so embarrassing?

“Vi-Viktor-- it’s good to meet you.”

...Well… So _that_ was how things were going to be.

Viktor didn’t notice Christophe walking up behind Yuuri until several moments before he slapped the man’s ass, causing that beautiful face to flush even more.

“Are you all having dinner?” Chris asked, purring like a cat. “And no one invited me? Viktor, I understand you but Yuuri, I thought you would think of me.”

Yuuri yelped. “I-- don’t have your number, Christophe.”

“Don’t you? I can give--”

Yuuri frantically waved his hands. “No! No, thanks uhm. Let’s just-- we can--”

“Have dinner?” Viktor suggested.

At least Yuuri wasn’t skittish around just Viktor.

 

Thankfully, Yuuri grew more at ease over their meal. Christophe, picking up on Yuuri’s embarrassment, soon refrained from further teasing. Viktor saved him from anything worse by keeping Yuri, who they’d found already eating with Otabek, on one side and Yuuri on the other.

And Yuuri actually _talked_ to him. Now Viktor remembered how a real smile felt.

“I can’t believe we’re all sitting here,” Yuuri said.

Viktor took a sip of his drink.

“Last year, I was always by myself.” Yuuri almost laughed at himself. “I couldn’t talk to any of you.”

Viktor spat out that sip.

Eyebrows went up all around the table, save for Otabek and Phichit.

Viktor turned. “Yuuri, don’t you remember?”

“Wh-what?” Yuuri’s wide eyes betrayed nothing but ignorance.

“Yuuri, you got drunk on champagne and started dancing,” Chris said. “Everyone saw it.”

The look of horror that crossed Yuuri’s face was beyond words, as was Viktor’s.

Of course. The champagne. Viktor barely registered everyone else’s explanations. Yes, Yuuri had won Viktor’s heart at the banquet. Yes, he’d flown off. But he hadn’t been ignoring Viktor. He simply hadn’t remembered. He couldn’t look at him because he was still starstruck by the man that he’d admired since he was a child. Viktor had been pining needlessly.

“...Wow...” he said quietly.

This was definitely not amazing.

 

This time Viktor didn’t allow Yuuri to stay silent as they waited for their final programs.

“I wondered why you never called me,” Viktor said.

“Called you?” Yuuri repeated.

Viktor tilted his head like the dog he was so fond of. “After the Grand Prix banquet. You don’t remember asking me--”

Yuuri covered his mouth. “Oh no.”

“If I would be your coach,” Viktor finished.

Yuuri didn’t react immediately save for his eyes going as wide as an empty food bowl must seem to Makkachin. Finally, he lowered his hands. “I did?”

“Enthusiastically. You--” the look of terror on Yuuri’s face dissuaded Viktor from finishing that sentence.

“I’m sorry! I--”

“Do you always apologize every other sentence?” Viktor tapped his chin, trying to decide whether or not the habit was more adorable than frustrating. Ah well, he’d either get used to it or Yuuri would warm up to him again.

Or he’d leave.

No. None of those thoughts before his program.

Yuuri said nothing so Viktor filled in the silence with a lowered voice.

“ _I_ should apologize to you. After seeing you skate last year, I thought you would like a photo of your own to remember me by.”

Every flush of Yuuri’s cheeks he convinced him further that Viktor could never see enough of that scarlet face.

“I asked for a picture at the banquet? Did you take one?”

Viktor thought back to the collection of pictures and videos on his phone, frequently viewed. “Many. I wasn’t talking about that. Before you left the Grand Prix. I know it was the wrong thing to say--”

“You knew I that I’m a skater?”

Viktor blinked. Would Viktor ever know how Yuuri continued to surprise him? Did he want to?

“Do you think I’m that unobservant? Of course I did. How else would I know you’re a fan?” His gaze strayed to Yuuri’s neck. Was he only seeing what he himself felt, or did the vein in Yuuri’s throat pulse in a frantic beat? “I’ve never seen someone influenced by only one skater.”

“Vitya!” Yakov called before either of them could form the proper words.

“Time already?” If Viktor but had time for more than one sigh but one was all he could do. He stood. “Yuuri, will you watch me in the stands?”

Yuuri smiled, throat bobbing as he swallowed, and nodded.

“I’ll see you there.”

Lighter than he’d felt in years, Viktor made his way to the rink. He unzipped his jacket and handed it to Yakov.

“Viktor--”

“I don’t need more encouragement.” Viktor pulled his hair back into a ponytail. He hadn’t the time to grow it out as long as it used to be. It didn’t even come down to his shoulders when tied back like this.

He smoothed his outfit down. The commentators speculated at the throwback-- a redone version of the black costume he’d worn when he was young. Chris was envious of the mesh that revealed more of Viktor’s body than it had then. Viktor hoped for more than envy from Yuuri.

_Eros._ Viktor could be it now in a way that would have been impossible before. First as a youth and even later as a man, he had never longed as he did now, when he finally knew what it was he wanted. Who he wanted.

Viktor spread his arms as he skated onto the stage. This program might not be for them. It might not even be for Yuuri. But this moment was theirs, too, almost as much as his own.

_Eros._

To him, Eros was not only Yuuri as Yuuri was not only Eros. More than desire, this was what it was to live. He wouldn’t allow it to escape his grasp.

Yuuri didn’t remember the night Viktor had learned that. Viktor had to show him.

These thoughts and more consumed him as the music began. He cast a look at the stands and saw, with a leap of his heart, that Yuuri was there. As for Viktor’s smile, the parting of his lip, the catch of his breath-- did Yuuri see that?

What followed was a whirl of movement and emotion. There was no room for thinking beyond the step sequence, the jumps, the landings, and all in between. But there was feeling. Of the banquet, of everything that followed, and of before. Of that need gone unfulfilled until a night of dancing, champagne, laughter, and shining eyes.

Then the end of it all. Yuuri stumbling out of the hall, guided by his coach. Whatever Viktor learned since then hadn’t erased the intervening months of desperation and despair.

His eyes flicked to the stands. Still there.

It was less a last minute decision and more a last second decision. The music came to an end so abruptly that Viktor had no choice but to turn fast and hard. A lesser skater would overbalance. Viktor did not. He dropped to his knee after executing a sharp change in direction, one that took him at a right angle. One that brought him a sharp pain in his ankle. Now on one knee, Viktor threw out his hands to Yuuri, imploring. Tears ran down his face. He’d rather it have been from need and not pain.

The audience thought it part of the act. Applause drowned out everything. Yuuri’s hand had gone to his chest.

Viktor stayed like that for a moment longer before he fell onto his hands, taking all weight off his ankle.

“Yakov,” he whispered to the ice. “I should have listened.”

How he skated out of the rink, he couldn’t say, but as soon as he got to the bench, he took off his skate. Yakov had an icepack on his ankle half a moment later.

“I knew your drama would be the end of you.” Yakov’s voice lacked his usual brusqueness.

“Viktor!”

Viktor hastily wiped his eyes before looking up at Yuuri, who should be heading to the rink now. “Don’t worry.” His voice shook in spite of his best efforts. “Go on. I’ll watch you.”

Christophe appeared behind him. “I’ll stay with him, Yuuri.”

“Ah,” Viktor hoped that grimace of pain looked more like a welcoming smile. “Thanks, Chris.” Viktor motioned to the seat next to him. “We’ll watch together.”

Christophe gave him a half smile. “I’ve waited years for you to prove you’re mortal and you’ll still get higher points doing it.”

Yakov muttered something under his breath.

Yuuri looked from Christophe to Viktor. Last year, he’d looked so stern before his match. Now his muscles were taut with anxiety. Viktor’s heart sank.

“Yuuri-- good luck.” He could think of nothing else before Yuuri thanked him and walked away.

“That’s not good,” Christophe said, having taken his seat beside Viktor.

“What’s not good is this ankle,” Yakov hissed. Now there was the coach Viktor knew. “You need a professional to look at--”

“A few minutes won’t matter, Yakov.” Viktor said. His eyes never strayed from Yuuri.

Yuuri took position.

_“Can you hear my heart beat?”_

Viktor had heard the music before. From the first time he’d seen the program, he’d memorized it not from the chords and lyrics but from the way Yuuri skated. Viktor had lived Eros. But Yuuri _was_ this song. He saw a far different longing in the smooth, flowing movements of Yuuri’s legs. The worry remained though the look on his face hardened with the next line.

_“There’ll be no more darkness when you believe in yourself, you are unstoppable.”_

Yuuri picked up speed. Smooth movements became purposeful but no less flowing. Each turn and shift in his body was not natural yet somehow the tension flowing through him matched the theme.

It was not perfect. Viktor still couldn’t look away.

Yuuri was behind in the points, even more so now that a full half of the competitors had finished their programs. As predicted, he pushed more of his jumps into the second half. He sacrificed none of the timing, each one still coming at the moment the music called for, just in a different place than previously choreographed.

Not enough. He nailed the triple axel. Of course he did. But his quads… So much potential, again untapped.

The music was almost done.

Born to make history. Viktor hoped that one day Yuuri--

The quad took him by surprise. The landing that became a flip, regardless of the fall that followed, took his mind off of his pain entirely.

 

By the time the all the skaters finished and all scores calculated, a medic had wrapped Viktor’s ankle tight. He accepted his gold medal and gave an abbreviated interview before being ferried to the nearest emergency room.

One CT scan later, now wearing a more permanent brace, he walked into the Grand Prix banquet. Yuri looked at him then made a face. Victor tried to recall what he'd said at the podium, standing next to Viktor and holding his silver medal higher. 

Ah, what did it matter? What mattered was--

“Yuuri!” Even with a limp and swaying from exhaustion, Victor moved with startling speed. His arms were around Yuuri before the skater who’d just missed third place could react. “That quad flip was amazing! Did you do that for me?” He rubbed his cheek against the top of Yuuri’s head. “Such stamina!”

“Viktor?”

“They gave him morphine.” Yakov’s grumbling voice came from somewhere behind Viktor. “He is worse than drunk.”

“What a mean thing to say.” Viktor leaned his weight against Yuuri. He tilted his head back to catch his eyes. “Don’t listen to him. He’s mad I’m not lecturing Yuri.”

Yuuri leaned back in an attempt to better get a look at Viktor. He must appreciate his eyes, too!

“Lecturing me?”

“No, Russian Yuri.” Viktor pointed to where said Yuri stood next to Otabek, watching them with eyes bulging out of his sockets.

“Oh.” Yuuri gulped. Perhaps because Viktor had slung his bad leg around him. To help take the weight off it, of course.

“How--” Yuuri managed to say. “How is your leg?”

“I won’t be skating for a few months. Without competition, I have more free time.” He beamed at Yuuri.

Yuuri stared back, less enthused. “A few months? Is it that bad?”

“Oh, yes!” Oblivious to Yuuri’s concern, Viktor nodded as though it were the most wonderful news in the world. His dreamy smiled widened. “Maybe more! Am I still invited to Hatsetsu?”

“Y-yes!” Yuuri’s surprise transformed from one of anxiety to happiness. “My parents have the only hot spring open there. If it helps, you could go back to skating sooner.” His hand found Viktor’s. He pulled it away from his waist. Viktor laced his fingers between Yuuri’s.

“Why would I want to do that? I knew when I saw that flip. You still want me to coach you. Don’t you, Yuuri?”

Yuuri gasped. This close, Viktor felt that the breath remained trapped in his chest.

“Do you?” he asked again. “Please. What will I do if I can’t coach you?” Viktor threw his arms around Yuuri.

Yuuri wrapped his arms around him in return. “We can win gold together,” he said, as carefully as the way he held Viktor.

Viktor barely registered the furious clicking of Phichit’s camera before he fell asleep standing, still in Yuuri’s arms.

 

Viktor leaned against the back of the hot spring and sighed. Beside him, Yuuri echoed it. Not touching, they enjoyed both the company and the relief from sore muscles. Viktor’s were from his strenuous physical therapy and Yuuri’s from a similarly strenuous training.

Inside, Makkachin drew the attention of the guests and Yuuri’s family. He was the only one truly on vacation but Viktor felt just as loved and spoiled.

“I should have come last year,” he said, sinking ever lower into the hot spring. He stopped only when his phone buzzed with a text. He looked over his shoulder and grabbed it. “Oh, it’s Yuuko!”

Yuuri craned his neck to look at him. “Yuuko has your number?”

“Of course she does, Yuuri. Your friends love to tell me about you.” He was mostly teasing (mostly) but the text actually did have to do with Yuuri.

It read:

_I forgot I had this! My girls almost posted this video of Yuuri last year. I had to stop them. Imagine how embarrassed Yuuri would have been. Don’t tell him I showed you but you should see it now that you’re his coach. I hope this answers some of your questions about his anxiety._

“A video of you skating?” Viktor asked. As Yuuri tried to take the phone, he tapped the video to play it.

He stared. Yuuri stared. Pawing at the door, Makkachin stared.

“This was from last year?” Viktor said numbly.

His Stay Close to Me program, skated with utter perfection by Katsuki Yuuri.

“I told her to delete that! Yuuko!” Yuuri stepped out of the hot spring to get his own phone.

Viktor let him flail about for his towel, gaze shifting from the video to his naked body. “Tell her she sent it a year too late!” He laughed. He couldn’t stop laughing until Yuuri calmed enough to rejoin him.

Viktor splashed Yuuri. It drew a smile from him. Viktor preferred the smile to Yuuri’s blush immeasurably. “It doesn’t matter,” he said. “If you can do this, then I know exactly what I have in mind for this season.”

The door broke loose from Makkachin’s incessant pawing. As Viktor’s mind raced with possibilities, the dog raced towards them and splashed them all with one mighty leap into the hot spring.

This season, Viktor wasn’t going to unlock Yuuri’s potential. He was going to unlock both of theirs.

And hopefully train Makkachin to stay out of the hot spring and stop licking Yuuri’s face. Hm. Maybe only the former.


End file.
